To Pieces

A fracture — breaking Life.

As it puts pressure on its surroundings;

I spread myself across it –

Thin as the wings of a fly.

I try to stop the cracks,

the spiders.

But I am just a fly after all

And every inch of it is aching to fall apart.

This is not what I am made for.

A sickening split and I fall –

Inwards — grasping at walls;

As if clinging to them will hold it all together.

How long? It seems indefinite.

After all no No One can take my place.

Is it Life — this?

But what life exists if I let go?

Can I be the martyr?

Does there have to be a martyr?

Everyone is selfish.

Staying here, I am better than them.

But I am not – more narcissistic perhaps.

A narcissist with a backache.

with — Bleeding hands.

Going unnoticed.

My feet slip, calves Straining against the weight.

I cannot be doing this only for myself,

I am just a fly between the walls,

a narcissist with low self worth —

A joke to laugh at.

Because I made it.

My wrists shake,

My body – trembles.

From stress or laughter I do not know.

Nothing is funny.

But everything is a joke.

I let go —